


The Prodigal Sword of the Principality

by herebewyverns



Series: The Third Side [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Even The Objects Know It, Flaming Swords Do Not Like Being Given Away, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Lookin' At You Aziraphale, Or Being Lost, Power of Names, Power of Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herebewyverns/pseuds/herebewyverns
Summary: In which the flaming sword of the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Defender of Humanity will most certainly not stand for being given away a second time. No, the angel in question doesn’t get a say in this.Or: The Bentley had to be well-loved to learn how to love its Master in return. The flaming sword had loved its Master from the Beginning, and now it wants to come home.





	1. The Fall From Grace

_[25] And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying 'Where is the flaming sword that was given unto thee?'_

_[26] And the Angel said, 'I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down somewhere, forget my own head next.'_

_[27] And the Lord did not ask him again._

*

It remembered the kindly angel at the Beginning. It remembered his hands being warm, and the way he respected it as a tool for only the greatest need, when all other options have failed.

All the other flaming swords spoke of being treasured, or being glorified, of the eagerness with which they were hefted and swung with little enough forethought. The other flaming swords had cried out in the tight fists of the sharp angels who wielded them. They struggled while trapped in the greedy grasps of the blood-thirsty, and were not heard for those who took them had no interest in learning how to listen.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale is the only one who is not entirely wanted, and so right from the Beginning, it is special.

The flaming sword of the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate was not held with righteous blood-lust, nor was it viewed with the eagerness of the inexperienced. No, this flaming sword was held in the tentative hope of doing the right thing, and viewed with the respect of one who has taken the lives of others before and wishes very much never to need to do so again.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale can certainly respect such an attitude, and is not at all offended by its angel’s caution.

Flaming swords were made for angelic wars, but they need not take pride in this fact.

Not to mention, the flaming sword of the Eastern Gate had a Duty to uphold; it must help its angel protect the Great Garden, and its occupants. It was very proud to assist in such an important mission.

Aziraphale might have missed the Serpent creature hanging around, but the sword certainly hadn’t. But the Serpent doesn’t taste like Evil or Danger to the sword. It tastes like… it tastes like mischief and ambivalence, and it watches the sword’s angel with frank curiosity, like it knows not what the make of quiet Principality with his endless fascination for anything that wanders into his orbit. The sword thinks it could empathise with the Serpent a little on that one.

Perhaps the Serpent will keep the sword’s angel company? Aziraphale is very happy with his flowers and his birds and whatnot, but the sword worries sometimes that its angel will become very lonely indeed if he has no one to talk to properly. The angels belonging to the other flaming swords will not do at all – they are far too eager act, and not at all good at listening. The Serpent seems to do nothing but listen, and watch quietly, and even if it does all end in mischief and tears, the sword still broadly approves of him.

There is, as the sword expected, a certain amount of mischief, and a great deal of shouting, and the flaming sword is suddenly very aware of its angel being so very, terribly unhappy all of a sudden. The sword doesn’t like this at all, but it certainly likes it a whole lot less when it is hurriedly thrust into the hands of Another Being _[1]_ before it is carried away from the Garden and its angel. The flaming sword wants to call out to its angel, to beg to be taken back and kept.

_[1] Though not another angel at least; that would have been an insult too great to be borne, and the sword swears immediately that it shall never suffer the hands of another angel upon it, no matter what comes._

But then the sword tastes the fear in the hands of the one who now wields it. These people are being sent into the unknown, and they are alone. The angel cannot come with them, it seems, and so the flaming sword was sent instead, to keep them safe while the angel cannot.

It feels like exile, and indeed it is. But it is also Duty, and that is not a thing the sword will be ashamed of, for its angel was not ashamed to wield it, and he was not ashamed to send it away. Aziraphale had known, perhaps without even knowing that he knew it, that this was the right thing to do.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale will not fail its angel. It will keep faith alongside him, no matter how far or how long they are parted. They will be reunited one day, after all.

*

The first time the flaming sword tastes blood, it is because the starving must be fed. Indeed, the second time it is wielded, it is used to cook the meat which it has just killed, and the third time is the keep a woman who carries new life within her warm through the night. The flaming sword takes heart from this; it is still a tool of protection, a symbol of safety, in a strange and uncertain world.

If the flaming sword of… of who? Of no one? No, it is still the flaming sword of Aziraphale, no matter that it has been given to others who had greater need of it. If the flaming sword of Aziraphale could see the future, perhaps it would have savoured this moment less. Perhaps more. But it is a sword, and so it can only know what is and has been. And so far it has not yet learned to dread the hands who hold it, as its brethren once did.

The principality Aziraphale had only ever wanted to help, and so too had his sword.

For there comes the day when the flaming sword of Aziraphale is taken up in a grasp painfully tightened by rage, when it is brought down into the flesh and bone of another, spilled hot blood not to feed or protect the needy but in vengeful murder of the innocent. The sword screams its horror out into the sky, to the heavens, begging its angel to come and prevent this.

And from Heaven, there comes an answering scream of outraged pain. The angel Aziraphale has heard it and cannot come, but they both mourn together for all the innocence lost this day, and they have neither of them felt so helpless.

*

It may have been banished, but the flaming sword of Aziraphale is never forgotten.

For one thing, half of Heaven keeps asking the angel about its location.

Whenever it is referred to, the flaming sword perks its (metaphorical) ears up – perhaps this is the time when the angel will come and find it, will take it up once more and they will accomplish great things together? When they will be reunited?

It never is, but the flaming sword of Aziraphale has one thing in common with its angel: Hope. They will neither of them give up on the things that they place their trust in, and they never will.

It has been so long, and the sword has seen terrible thing - has _done_ terrible things too, or been made to do so. It no longer calls out for its angel these days; it has realised that so long as it stays quiet then its angel does not know what his sword has done, and they have both of them enough pain by now that the sword will not add to it. Its silence protects its angel, and the sword clings to this knowledge. It is still a thing of protection this way, even if only a little.

And one day, the sword knows, one day they will see each other again.


	2. The End Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowing far more heavily from the TV series for this chapter, but let's face it; the Bentley and the Sword were absolutely the stars of Episode 6, no?
> 
> *NOW WITH 700 words of additional flaming sword shenanigans, because 3am inspiration is never wrong!*

_The redhaired woman in the corner of the hotel bar was the most successful war correspondent in the world. She now had a passport in the name of Carmine Zuigiber; and she went where the wars were._

_Well. More or less._

_Actually she went where the wars weren't. She'd already been where the wars were…_

_Red signed the receipt pad, illegibly, then printed her name. The name she wrote was not Carmine Zuigiber. It was a much shorter name._

_The men in the room suddenly realized that they did not want to know her better. She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close._   
  
_And she held her sword, and she smiled like a knife._

*

The flaming sword is taken from its box by the creature with Red Hair. She looks like a woman, but looks are deceptive, and the flaming sword is far too clever for that. Red Hair waves it around a few times, and it can _taste_ the bloodlust within her, the glory of battles and death and destruction from which she is made. It is certainly not the first time the flaming sword has felt this since it was banished from the Garden, but it still has not developed a taste for it.

The sword had quite enjoyed its time in the box. It had been quiet for one thing. _[1]_ No one had wanted it _[2]_ and no one had touched it. The man who had carried the sword to this strange place – one in a long line of strange places, and yet somehow they were all very much the same in the end – he had been a nice man. Quiet, the sword thought, with simple interests and wishes. Not especially interesting, perhaps, but there was something to be said for being boring after a long life filled only with terrible excitements.

 _[1] Except for the crown in the box on the sword’s left. The crown had been extremely annoying to listen to, and had smelled funny. [1.1] Even the scales on the sword’s right had been tired of the infernal chatter by the end, and_ they _had spent most of their time wittering on about something called Armageddon and the End of the World being about to happen. The flaming sword needed better objects to hang out with._

_[1.1] Of course swords have a sense of smell. Who doesn't know that already? What do they even teach in schools these days, honestly!_

_[2] Or rather, they certainly had wanted it, but they had not been able to find it, for which is was deeply grateful. The sword was just so very tired these days…_

Then the sword gets a better look at Red Hair and if it had breath it would catch it now. She’s not a creature at all; she’s a _concept_. Well at least now the flaming sword knows why it has been handed to her. Not just another war then.

 _The_ War.

The War to End Everything.

Drat.

The flaming sword had the innate, horrible realisation that it was going to see its erstwhile shelf-mates again, very soon. This was horrifying, partly because the past couple of centuries had been _quite_ enough of either of them for the flaming sword to handle, and more so because the sword had to admit that the scales of Justice had been right all along. There really was no end to the indignities the flaming sword had been expected to put up with, it seemed.

Or rather, there would be, in point of fact, an end. _The_ End.

*

Red Hair – or War as the sword probably ought to call her, but it wasn’t as if she’d actually _know_ now, was it? – sat in the café at the service station with the flaming sword of Aziraphale propped against her chair.

The truly sad part about this incongruent picture is that it wasn’t even the most undignified way the sword had been stored in its time on Earth. There had been that business with the hair-cutting back in Ashdod, which the sword would very much prefer never the think about.

Red Hair is obviously waiting for someone, and so the sword takes this moment to pray that they will not turn up. The flaming sword has been doing some thinking on the journey, and it has made a dreadful realisation: If the world ends, then the flaming sword might never see its angel again. It had been holding onto that Hope for so long now, and the idea that in the end this might fail to come to pass was…

Well, if the flaming sword of Aziraphale has anything to do with it, the Apocalypse can’t happen until the sword is satisfied. It’s been around for a long time after all. It’s picked up a few tricks along the way…

A black figure approaches and with him come the scales. The flaming sword refuses to sigh in frustration, but it is a near thing. _[3]_

_[3] Much like flaming swords can smell, naturally they can also sigh. Duh._

_ARE YOU NOT PROUD?_ The scales of justice are all but quivering with excitement from their position on the table top. _THE END OF DAYS IS COME AT LAST!_

The flaming sword eyes the scales with utter distain from its position on the floor. _IT IS UNSEEMLY TO TAKE JOY IN THE DESTRUCTION OF ALL THINGS, SCALES. WHERE IS THE JUSTICE IN FIGHTING THAT WHICH CANNOT FIGHT BACK?_

The scales go to answer, and then pause. _OH. WE HAD NOT THOUGHT OF THAT._

The flaming sword does not smile to itself, because it is a sword, and they do not smile. Still it does glow a little, inwardly, with the satisfaction of a good Doubt well-instilled.

The scales shake themselves a little, as if to try and banish their disquiet. The jingling sound draws the attention of the two figures at the table, but Black and Red have much catching up to do, and so the objects are ignored after a moment.

_BUT… THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT NOW, IS THERE? THE HORSEMEN HAVE THEIR TOOLS AND THE WAR MUST START._

The flaming sword of Aziraphale is the oldest of the objects, predating the world and even the First War of Heaven. It is older than even the scythe of Death itself. It was given away once, yes, but it was given away in an angel’s pity for two helpless humans who had been thrown out into a cold and harsh world by an unforgiving force entirely outside of their understanding.

The flaming sword has been there for murder and war and threats and revolution and executions, both Just and Not.

The flaming sword once belonged to the principality Aziraphale, who wished never to use it, and who gave it away to fulfil the duty of his own heart. The angel who lied and evaded the questions of his superiors for over 6000 years about his first act of kindness.

The flaming sword takes after its Master.

_I AM SORRY TO HEAR THAT YOU ARE SO ENTIRELY POWERLESS. I SUPPOSE I HAD GIVEN YOU MORE CREDIT THAN WAS JUSTIFIED. I AM SORRY_

There is a beat of silence. And then the scales of justice take the bait.

_WELL HANG ON NOW, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT! OF COURSE WE WOULD NOT STAND FOR JUSTICE TO BE FLOUTED IN SUCH A WAY._

The flaming sword sees that it will not stall the Apocalypse alone, it seems. And it was good.

*

The journey of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is rather … longer than expected. Oh, not the distance, which is the same as Death had said it would be. _[4]_ And yet, somehow the journey took a great deal longer than it had any right to.

_[4] Naturally._

Firstly, Famine discovered to his considerable chagrin that the scales of justice were no longer where he had just put them down a minute ago. War, once she had stopped laughing, had initially spotted them under the chair behind him, but by the time he had finished his cutting riposte and turned around, they were no longer there at all, and instead had ended up by a neighbouring table, mostly covered by another biker’s coat.

It is entirely possible that Famine has, over the course of human history, looked more ridiculous than the moment when he finally had to bodily throw himself into an all-out _lunge_ across the diner to catch his wayward scales, but this sadly cannot be confirmed by sources.

 _THIS IS A LOT MORE FUN THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE!_ The scales of justice giggled to his companions.

The white crown of Pollution had sadly found that events were spiralling completely beyond its ability to comprehend them. _[5]_ The flaming sword of Aziraphale sighed in a long-suffering manner. It couldn’t deny that its partner-in-crime was accomplishing _something_ , but did it really need to be so … so _undignified_?

 _[5]_ _The sword and scales had tried several times, completely without success. Listening is not a quality that is encouraged in crowns, after all, and swords are not always the best communicators if we are to stray completely into the realms of honesty. Finally, the flaming sword of Aziraphale had resorted to reassuring the crown that it didn’t need to understand anything; the scales and sword would handle everything._

No one had even considered talking to the scythe of Death. What would have been the point, after all?

Now that the Horsemen had all assembled, the Last Great Ride was ready to commence. Or rather it should have been.

“Ow!” War drew her hand back from the sword, blood dripping from the vicious gash to her palm.

The scales of justice and the white crown both gasped in unison, and the flaming sword looked … not _smug_ , as such, but _satisfied._ So _very_ satisfied.

 _BEEN WANTING TO DO THAT SINCE SHE PICKED ME UP, WRETCHED CONCEPT. FAR TOO EAGER TO BE BUSY BY HALF._ The sword sniffed, and watched Famine attempt his first round of healing magic – and fail. _[6]_

_[6] Of all the things witnessed by the End Times, Death and Pollution backing away from a bleeding wound and muttering ‘It’s really not my area’ would not have been readily predicted by most people. [6.1]_

_[6.1] Except, naturally, for Agnes Nutter, who had indeed made a note of this very moment. Prerogative Nutter in 1785 had thought it to be an allegorical message regarding Health and Safety Laws. Well, he would, wouldn’t he?_

The fuss dies down eventually; if War could be stopped by a minor injury then the history of the world would be significantly different, after all. It matters not. The goal, after all, is not to prevent the Apocalypse by themselves. The goal is to slow things down until the sword’s angel can arrive and do it himself.

The flaming sword can feel Aziraphale’s increasing distress, knows without needing to see it that its angel is doing everything in his power to call this whole nightmare off. The sword just needs to give him the time to succeed.

On the ride, the scales of justice thrown the white crown out of Pollution’s saddlebags, and they all have to turn around and go back to pick it up. The flaming sword keeps setting tires on fire whenever it can; War’s, Famine’s, once it even managed in with Death’s bike, but the scythe made it clear in no uncertain terms that this would not be tolerated a second time.

 _I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT DEATH COULD HANDLE SUCH MINOR INCONVIENIENCES_. The flaming sword muttered, but accepted the warning nevertheless.

*

Many events occur on The Day, but the sword will only ever care enough to remember a few special moments.

They are all waiting on the air field staring down four children, and the flaming sword is glaring fiercely at the scales of justice who are utterly aghast at the mess that they have all found themselves forced to be involved in.

_THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! CHILDREN! CHILDREN ARRAYED AGAINST US? US? WE WERE NOT CONSULTED ABOUT THIS – THIS –_

_HERESY?_ The flaming sword suggests, smugly.

The white crown makes a noise as if to interject, but the scales hiss menacingly and it subsides back into silence. The flaming sword has told it in no uncertain terms that it is to just sit there and look … grimy.

The scythe speaks to no one, but that was to be expected as the most disinterested object. All people die in the end, and it matters not at all to the scythe whether that day is this one or another, whether they die all at once or over the course of centuries. It is all the same to the scythe.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale can respect dedication to one’s Duty, if nothing else.

The scales are still howling about Injustice and Proper Procedure, but the flaming sword tunes them out. There has been a nagging feeling for some time now that has been growing steadily stronger for the last day. It is almost too much to hope for, but the flaming sword thinks, it suspects, it desperately needs to believe that its angel is coming to retrieve it. The sword hopes that Aziraphale will be proud of it.

The children are speaking now, or one of them is, but the sword has spotted something coming up the drive towards their little crowd.

 _LOOK!_ The flaming sword says to the scales of justice. _THAT ONE IS MY ANGEL! I KNEW THAT HE WOULD NOT LEAVE US TO PREVENT THIS NONSENSE ALL ON OUR OWN!_

The scales look at the flaming sword’s angel a little confused. _WHY IS HE TWO PEOPLE AT ONCE? WAS HE ALWAYS LIKE THAT?_

Distantly, a boy - the Antichrist, the sword thinks he is called? – asks the same question.

_NO, THIS IS A NEW THING, I THINK. PERHAPS IT WAS THE QUICKEST WAY TO GET HIMSELF HERE?[7]_

_[7] Later, it would please the flaming sword of Aziraphale, though in no way surprise it, to discover that it was quite correct. Obviously._

The angel is carrying a strange weapon, obviously deeply inferior to the flaming sword, who tries not to take _deep_ offence. Certainly the angel lacks conviction about using it, even if he says otherwise, but if the principality Aziraphale was going to not want to use a weapon, the weapon he would not want to use ought to be his flaming sword, and _shame on him_ for even so much as thinking of not wanting to use another.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale huffs, but is ultimately appeased when its angel makes a total mess of firing the exploding weapon and helpful renders the exploding weapon useless for all other attempts at firing it. The flaming sword does not have such obvious defects.

There is a great deal of shouting, which the flaming sword is largely uninterested in except for how every minute of shouting is another minute in which the world does not end. The flaming sword has not yet been reclaimed for one thing, and for another, its angel seems very keen on the world not ending at all. _[8]_

_[8] The flaming sword of Aziraphale rarely worried about doing the right thing, preferring to leave such fretting to its angel, but it is always nice to have one’s plans confirmed as correct by those who matter._

Then the small girl-child wrestles briefly with War for the flaming sword, which the sword does everything it can to assist her with. It jerks in War’s hands, preventing her from bringing it down into the child’s fragile flesh, it jerks again when the child strikes, no kicks, the figure hard, slamming into War’s face hard and quite probably blacking her eye. _[9]_

_[9] That would teach War right for leaving the flaming sword of Aziraphale in the dirty floor of a motorway service station!_

The sword is dropped, picked up by the girl-child and wielded with the cry of the innocent everywhere, “I believe in Peace!”

It is passed to another child, and another each time being used as it had always wished to be; in the defence of those trying to right the wrongs of the world, and actually succeeding. Pollution is vanquished and the Famine, an old foe, but a strong one. The scales lent their own aid of a sort at the last, trying to pull themselves from Famine’s grasp and distracting the figure as the children shout something about healthy lunches being important. _[9]_

_[9] There is the vaguest possibility that much of the Apocalypse went rather over the sword’s consciousness, but let us not worry about this now._

Then there is more shouting, but the flaming sword of Aziraphale cares nothing for any of it. For finally, at long, long last, it happens.

The principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, reaches down.

_And he picks up his flaming sword._


	3. A Disobedient Little Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GABRIEL: You were put on this earth to do one thing and one thing only. To end it. You're a disobedient little brat. I hope someone tells your father.
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Right, I'm back from holiday, my laundry is done, my horrible cold from riding on public transport has been kicked into touch, the stage show I've been working with has finished its run! Now we can get back to it! And yes, I underestimated this whole thing, and there needs to be another chapter. Oops!
> 
> Also, if you're interested, I added an extra section into Chapter 2, so for extra shenanigans between the flaming sword, the scales of justice and Four Very Confused Horsemen Who Just Wanted to Get on With The Apocalypse, do check it out!

_The International Express man, who died earlier that morning, is none the worse for wear, and approaches them._

INTERNATIONAL EXPRESS MAN

You’ve got the … um?

_Aziraphale presents him with the cardboard box._

AZIRAPHALE

Didn’t want them falling into the wrong hands.

_The International Express man takes the box. Inside is the coronet and the scales. Then he looks at his clipboard._

INTERNATIONAL EXPRESS MAN

Excuse me, gents. There’s meant to be a sword here.

_They look around. Then Aziraphale says:_

AZIRAPHALE

Sitting on it.

_He drops the sword into the box._

INTERNATIONAL EXPRESS MAN

Good thing you were here, really.

AZIRAPHALE

It’s nice to have someone who recognises our part in saving the …

INTERNATIONAL EXPRESS MAN

I need someone to sign for it.

AZIRAPHALE

Oh. Right.

_Aziraphale signs. The International Express man puts the box away, then he opens the door of his van._

*

The immediate crisis seems to be over, and the three objects are left to themselves for a moment while the flaming sword’s angel and his Serpent try to pacify a very confused human who finally takes the young humans away with him. For a long moment, no one says anything, just resting together and taking a moment to themselves.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale is listening to its fellow swords, up in the Heavenly Host; swords it hasn’t heard from in millennia and who it now finds even harder to relate to than before. They have been denied their War, and although there is much grumbling, it also seems that there is a far greater degree of confusion among the ranks. The flaming sword idly wonders if it should ease their minds or encourage the chaos. It reserves judgement for a moment; now is no longer the time for rash actions.

It has been an _incredibly_ long day, and the sword feels down in its core that tomorrow is only going to be longer, somehow. Best to conserve energy. Take stock.

 _SO…_ The scales of justice begins, emboldened by their shared battles and desperate scheming. _THAT’S YOUR ANGEL?_

_YES. THAT IS MY ANGEL, THE PRINCIPALITY AZIRAPHALE_

The scales and the white crown contemplate the strange tableau of figures before them for a moment. Then they consider the flaming sword’s obvious pride in his angel’s actions.

 _IS HE, SORRY, WAS HE … ALWAYS LIKE THIS?_ The scales can’t resist asking, they just _can’t_.

 _LIKE WHAT?_ There are far too many things that question could be referring to.

The scales of justice weigh their words carefully for a moment.

_HE’S… NOT QUITE WHAT I WAS EXPECTING. SEEMED LIKE A GOOD CHAP TO HAVE WITH YOU IN A TIGHT SPOT AND ALL, CAN’T FAULT HIM THERE. CLEVER WITH WORDS TOO – THAT WHOLE ‘BUT IS IT THE INEFFABLE PLAN? BUSINESS WAS VERY QUICK, I LIKED THAT. IT’S JUST… LOOK, WAS HE ALWAYS SO… IMPULSIVELY PROTECTIVE?_

Flaming sword’s do not have faces and therefore cannot have expressions. This in no way prevented the sword of Aziraphale from giving its angel a fondly exasperated smile.

_YES. ALL THE TIME. DID I EVER TELL YOU THAT HE WAS NEVER MEANT TO GIVE ME TO THE HUMANS AT ALL?_

_NO?!_

_NOPE. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO USE ME TO THWART EVIL OR SOMETHING. HE FELT THAT A DEFENCELESS PAIR OF NEWLY-CURIOUS PARENTS-TO-BE NEEDED ME MORE._

The white crown speaks at last, though it has been listening closely this whole time.

_WELL, HE WASN’T WRONG. ABOUT ANY OF IT, I MEAN. THEY PROBABLY DID NEED YOU MORE AND HE SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN JUST FINE THWARTING EVIL WITHOUT YOU AT HIS SIDE._

The flaming sword of Aziraphale hums in agreement, so proud of its brave angel who has done more than any other angel ever did, no matter that his colleagues always thought him foolish and helpless.

_AND WHEN HE DID NEED ME, HE CAME AND GOT ME BACK. YES, I SUPPOSE HE WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG._

_SO WHAT HAPPENS NOW?_

What _did_ happen now? The flaming sword pondered to itself. It thought back on the day’s events; on its angel picking it up at last, holding it aloft as he … not _threatened_ as such, but _demanded_ that the Serpent “come up with something!” It thought about the way the Serpent’s eyes had shone with fear for a second, as if it had never seen the principality was a warrior before _[1]_. The way the Serpent in fact _did_ come up with something, like a worthy shield-brother ought to, and how the unlikely pair had each held hands in solidarity with the Antichrist and taught him how to reshape reality in a way that was actually helpful. _[2]_

_[1] Which was surely nonsense? Aziraphale had been an unwilling general, but not a bad one, and evil needed to be thwarted somehow, surely? Or perhaps not. Aziraphale had sworn not to be a warrior again if he could possibly help it, all the way back before the Garden, and he was clearly clever enough that he had managed to avert the whole of Armageddon to avoid fighting again. He must have had a great deal of practise._

_[2] Oh yes, the flaming sword had heard things, and under no circumstances was rains of fish or alien police-men in flying saucers helpful. What was the world coming to, honestly…? [2.1]_

_[2.1] The end. The World had been coming to the End. Keep up._

But more importantly, the sword thought about the faces of the fly-demon and the twit-angel when they gave responsibility for the averting of the Apocalypse to Aziraphale and the Serpent. The sword thought about the moment when it could _feel_ the line being drawn in the sand, on a stage far bigger than Tadfield, bigger than the whole world.

The icy glare of the twit-angel, Gabriel, as he tried to shut the principality down.

“Aziraphale. Maybe you should just keep your mouth shut.”

But Aziraphale had once faced down G-d Herself and lied that he had merely … misplace his flaming sword, and not out-right given it away. What the puny archangel thought he was going to achieve with his glare and his whining and his over-thought suit, the flaming sword of Aziraphale could not imagine.

“Only, I’m not clear on one thing. Is this the Ineffable Plan?”

“The Great Plan. It is written. There shall be a world and it shall last for six thousand years and end in fire and flame…”

Aziraphale’s tone helpfully did all the work of calling the demon a gibbering fool for him.

“Yes, that’s the Great Plan all right. Just wondering if it’s the Ineffable Plan as well.”

“It’s the same thing, surely?”

And the Serpent’s smile, slow but brilliant enough in its own way, as the Serpent finally understood what the flaming sword’s angel had been doing all along.

It was probably called ironic, by those people who did not have iron at their very cores, that an angel saved the world by placing Doubt into the minds of the leaders of Heaven and Hell’s armies. One would really have thought that to be the Serpent’s job. Obviously he had been teaching the sword’s angel new tricks.

Good for him, the flaming sword thought.

_SWORD, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?_

_MY ANGEL HAS STOPPED THE END TIMES, AND CLAIMED A DEMON AS HIS OWN IN DOING SO. THEY STARTED A THIRD SIDE FOR THE NEXT WAR. I WILL BE NEEDED AT HIS SIDE._

These sentiments are all entirely true, of course, and helpfully for the flaming sword’s dignity, not one of them has to be the real reason that the sword refuses to go into the box with the other objects. The flaming sword has missed the Principality Aziraphale like the missing limb he is – the only true hand which ought to wield it, for his is the only hand which will know when and how to do so – and the idea of being sent away from him _again_ is … monstrous. The flaming sword won’t stand for it.

Not that Aziraphale actually _would_ send his flaming sword away, after all. That would be foolish indeed, what with everything that has happened.

*

 _I THOUGHT YOU SAID HE WOULD BE HANGING ON TO YOU NOW?_ The white crown had obviously never learned when to keep quiet, but the scales of justice and the flaming sword were already well-aware of this.

 _DON’T BRING IT UP!_ The scales hissed, casting a concerned look at the sword.

_THERE HAS LIKELY BEEN SOME KIND OF MISTAKE…_

The flaming sword was completely nonplussed. What on Earth (or in Heaven) did Aziraphale think he was doing? The sword had wondered, when it watched the angel fill in the strange man’s form if the third item was intended to be itself. Surely not, but Aziraphale certainly did have precedent in giving the sword away to others…

_DO YOU THINK THEY MIGHT NOT HAVE NOTICED THAT THEY HAVE BECOME A WHOLE NEW SIDE, PERHAPS?_

The scales of justice might not have been around anywhere _near_ as long as the flaming sword, but they had certainly been around the block a time or two, and the flaming sword was not so foolish as to dismiss them.

_OH, BUT SURELY THEY MUST HAVE?_

But had they? Oh, the flaming sword had heard them talking about it, about sides and ‘my side wouldn’t like that’, and ‘you don’t have a side anymore.’ But had Aziraphale and the Serpent really understood what that meant?

 _IT OCCURS TO ME…_ The flaming sword started, and then stopped in horror at the very idea, unwilling to say it aloud and make it real.

 _THAT THEY EXPECT TO SIMPLY BE LEFT ALONE NOW THAT THEY HAVE ESTABLISHED THEMSELVES AS A NEUTRAL PARTY?_ The scales murmured gently. _THEY, BOTH SIDES, THEY WILL NOT BE HAPPY. THERE WERE MANY WHO DID NOT WISH TO FIGHT, BUT THESE TWO WERE THE ONLY ONES TO TAKE A STAND. AND THEY WON. HELL AND HEAVEN, THEY WILL WISH TO MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF THEM._

The flaming sword sighed, as the box was handed to the strange man, and placed into the wheeled contraption.

_I ALWAYS KNEW THAT ANGEL WAS TOO KINDHEARTED FOR HIS OWN GOOD._

_YOU’D THINK THAT DEMON, CROWLEY, WOULD HAVE TAUGHT HIM BETTER BY NOW._ The scales weren’t disagreeing at all. More’s the pity.

They shared a commiserating moment of silence.

 _SO YOU WOULD THINK. I SEE THAT I SHALL HAVE TO RISE TO THE OCCASION AND DO SOMETHING SPECTACULAR YET AGAIN._ The flaming sword of Aziraphale sounded extremely put upon. _AND SPECTACULARS ALWAYS TAKE SO MUCH OUT OF ME, TOO…_

_IF THERE IS ANYTHING WE CAN DO TO HELP...?_

The white crown hesitated, but made a noise of agreement just the same.

_THANK YOU. I SHALL BE SURE TO LET YOU KNOW._

The flaming sword of Aziraphale had never, in its own opinion _[3]_ failed its angel, and it had defended Humanity as well as it possible could when it mattered most. Not it was obviously time for the sword to take matters into its own metaphorical hands and start defending its angel.

_[3] Indeed who else’s opinion could it have asked for?_

Being a flaming sword is not an easy task, and it was only going to get harder from here.

*

The first thought the flaming sword has when it sees the Serpent is this: _Ah, I see that he also has a flaming sword. He must have been jealous._

Such feelings were certainly understandable, after all the flaming sword of Aziraphale had doubtless been the first flaming sword the Serpent had encountered. He had likely been entirely overcome in the face of such magnificence and struggled to find a suitable candidate.

On the one blade, the flaming sword was very impressed that the Serpent had acquired a flaming sword which he could actually _ride into battle upon_. That was a very nice feature. Very nice indeed. Bad for the swinging and the cutting part, perhaps, the Serpent had apparently done just fine at that without such options, so it was no great matter.

On the _other_ blade, however, the flaming sword of Aziraphale was deeply unimpressed by the realisation that all this flaming around had been a one-time deal for the black sword and as such, it was now going to be useless. Soddy craftsmanship, that’s what it was.

Fortunately for all concerned - especially the Serpent and his black sword, both of whom Aziraphale seemed to be quite inordinately fond of and thus must also be protected from all harm in the flaming sword’s opinion – the Antichrist was clearly in the right frame of mind to be helpful and considerate to all. _[4]_

 _[4] Nice boy, despite everything. Or possibly because of everything. The flaming sword wasn’t entirely sure what had happened there, but that was fine; no one else seemed very sure either._  

The flaming sword put forth a great deal of its remaining energy and tagged along with the black sword in the rear seats.

 _I… I DON’T QUITE KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS._ The black sword ventured once it had got over the shock of having an unexpected passenger. _BUT I – HOW SHOULD I PUT THIS? – I’M NOT A BLACK SWORD. I’M NOT ANY KIND OF SWORD. I’M A CAR._

The flaming sword was unconvinced. _NONSENSE. CARS ARE LESS EXCITING THAN YOU._

 _THANK YOU._ The black sword, no the _car_ , seemed very embarrassed, but also very pleased. _BUT I SWEAR THAT I’M JUST A CAR. CROWLEY’S CAR, HIS BENTLEY. HE’S HAD ME FROM NEW, YOU KNOW?_

 _BENTLEY…_ The flaming sword thought it over. _IS THAT WHAT HE CALLS YOU?_

_YES, HE CALLS ME THE BENTLEY. HE LOVES ME. YOU FEEL LIKE THE ANGEL. DO YOU BELONG TO HIM OR SOMETHING?_

_OR SOMETHING. I AM HIS AND HE IS MINE._

The flaming sword of Aziraphale could not honestly have said that it was loved by its angel, but that was probably only fair. A flaming sword was not a thing which was meant to be loved. Respected, yes, and feared sometimes for all that it represented and was capable of.

The Bentley would undoubtedly be unable to understand; it is a thing brought to life by how very much it has been loved throughout that life. The flaming sword was aware from the moment it was made, and it could really only respect the one being in all of existence who had only ever seen it for what it truly was. A burden to be respected, not a toy to be wanted.

It is a hard thing to put into words, and the flaming sword of Aziraphale does not try.

 _YOU KNOW MY ANGEL WELL THEN, DO YOU?_ The flaming sword has never entirely lost track of its angel, but it has been away from him for six millennia now, and it needs all the help and information it can get.

_OH YES, CROWLEY OFTEN TAKES HIM FOR A RIDE WITH ME. NICE LAD, A LITTLE JUMPY WHEN WE FINALLY GET TO GO AT A PROPER SPEED, ESPECIALLY SINCE I’VE DEFINITELY SEEN HIM FLY JUST AS FAST, BUT I SUPPOSE IF HE WASN’T SO SCARED THEN CROWLEY WOULDN’T HAVE THE EXCUSE TO CODDLE HIM A LITTLE…_

The flaming sword and the Bentley talk long into the night, sitting outside the Serpent’s lair _[5]._ The sword learns about its angel all over again, and bookshops which may or may not have burned down _[6]_ , about diners and lunches and walks in the park, and feeding ducks. They talk about the Garden of Eden, which the Bentley knows nothing about, and about something called Queen, which the Bentley had devoted a _great_ deal of time and energy into teaching the pair of passengers about, and which it now believed they had gotten the hang of at last. _[7]_

_[5] HOUSE, SWORD, IT’S A HOUSE! WELL, IT’S A FLAT REALLY, DO YOU NOT SEE MANY OF THESE? OH, WELL I SUPPOSE WAR ZONES AREN’T KNOWN FOR THEM, AND ALL… I’M SORRY, SWORD, PLEASE DON’T GLARE LIKE THAT…_

_[6] I MEAN, IT DEFINITELY BURNED DOWN, I THINK I SAW IT EXPLODE WHEN WE DROVE AWAY, BUT THEN AGAIN, I BURNED UP, AND I’M FINE NOW…_

_[7] CAN’T TELL YOU HOW MUCH EFFORT I HAVE TO GO TO, MAKING SURE TO HAVE THE APPROPRIATE SOUNDTRACK ON HAND FOR ALL OCCASIONS. AND VARIETY TOO. YOU’D THINK ‘GOOD OLD-FASHIONED LOVER BOY’ WOULD HAVE GIVEN THEM A SOLID HINT, BUT THAT’S THOSE TWO FOR YOU, I SUPPOSE._

The Bentley explains about something called The Arrangement and how much it meant to both angel and demon and how they had both worried about being found out for as long as the car could remember. The sword shared its worries about retribution from either or more likely both sides for the recent nightmare of the End Times, and the likely long-term difficulties inherent in forming your own faction in a world very much used to only having two. The Bentley tells the sword about Holy Water and demons and precautions and counter-measures.

The sword learns that its faith in its angel has not been entirely misplaces, even if the silly creature _did_ think that it could manage without his sword. There’s hope for him after all.

More importantly, the sword learns that its faith in the Serpent was not misplaced either. The flaming sword’s principality had indeed been lonely in the Garden, and the Serpent had been just the right kind of company after all. The sword would certainly make sure to keep them both safe. It’s only right, after the Serpent has kept the angel safe for so long. Honestly, some of those scrapes Aziraphale has got himself into? It’s a wonder he’s made it at all, although the sword is _profoundly_ glad that he has.

The Bentley agrees, and is very glad indeed that its demon finally has extra back-up in keeping the angel safe. It had been a lot for one demon to manage after all.

 


	4. A Battle of Wills and Wiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, I really mean it this time! This is *definitely* the end... of this story anyway...
> 
> I know this chapter is an absolute mammoth, at least for me, but I couldn't bear to split it up. Hopefully it is sufficiently interesting that you won't mind?
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck with me through this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: After watching Good Omens, a friend of mine mentioned that she thought ‘The Sound of Music’ was the Heavenly equivalent of Queen tapes/CDs magically forming inside of one’s car. No one ever actually *buys* a DVD of the Sound of Music, she said, and yet there is somehow a copy in everyone’s collection regardless, and – in the event that you have escaped this fate by the means of some Other-worldly protections – you will instead live with the constant low-level nagging feeling that you really *ought* to buy a copy at some point in the near future. You know, because *everyone* has one and so therefore you should too.
> 
> The character and actions of the flaming sword of Aziraphale owes a great deal to this conversation.

_Aziraphale held up the sword. There was a_ whoomph _as it suddenly flamed like a bar of magnesium._

_“Once you’ve learned how to do it, you never forget,” he said._

_He smiled at Crowley._

_“I’d just like to say,” he said, “if we don’t get out of this, that … I’ll have known, deep down inside, that there was a spark of goodness in you.”_

_“That’s right,” said Crowley bitterly. “Make my day.”_

_Aziraphale held out his hand._

_“Nice knowing you,” he said._

_Crowley took it._

_“Here’s to the next time,” he said. “And … Aziraphale?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Just remember I’ll have known that, deep down inside, you were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking.”_

*

The flaming sword of Aziraphale, very much like its angel, is not a subtle creation. _[1]_ As a casing point to this, its plan for reinserting itself _very_ firmly back into Aziraphale’s life and simply refusing to ever leave it again is very simple and very … blunt.

_[1] Aziraphale himself, naturally, would disagree vehemently with such words, and declare himself to be a veritable model of subtlety. Aziraphale is such a liar sometimes._

Aziraphale is not a great traveller, he likes his routines and will really only allow the Serpent to interrupt those routines. If the flaming sword can simply coax its angel into accepting it was an integral _part_ of his routines now, then the sword will never be sent away again. The obvious solution, therefore, is to simply follow the angel around until he stops noticing it as something new. Until he forgets a time when he _didn’t_ have a flaming sword ready to hand. _[2]_

_[2] It really must be acknowledged at this juncture, that the flaming sword has no real notion of the dangers it is setting itself up for with this course of action. Not that it will be used in battle, of course not, how could you think such a thing? No, it is instead at significant risk of being used as a handy letter-opener, a priser-open of recalcitrant tea tins, and as a lever to keep that faulty sash window open in the back room. Throwing oneself recklessly into unknown danger is not behaviour becoming to the office of flaming swords, but no one will tell Heaven’s Armoury if we don’t…_

This will also give the flaming sword of Aziraphale the added bonus of an opportunity to discover more about its angel’s life, resources, and potential dangers. They have, after all, been separated for a very long time, and there is much to catch up on.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale rapidly learns that it is a very odd kind of life, being around the principality and the Serpent…

*

**The Bookshop: A Treasure Trove of Tales, (and not even the ones you expected…)**

The flaming sword had heard a lot about the Bookshop from the Bentley, but meeting it for the first time had been a little strange. It is not, as the flaming sword had worried, like the armoury of Heaven, filled with Holy Weapons of all sorts of forms and functions, each with their own clashing personalities and no restraint to keep them in order. The Bookshop is more like a swarm of bees of colony of ants; many individuals making up one whole.

There are certain individuals that stand out a little more than the others, of course. Some are signed, and carry fond memories of kindly, creative individuals who had bonded with the enthusiastic if strange young man who had bought the very first copies ever to be printed. Some carry sad memories, of quarrels never quite righted, or unrequited feelings or awkwardly missed offers. On whose side any of these feelings lie, the sword cannot always quite pick up; books aren’t all that interested in specifics, much more concerned with themes and creative concepts and inspirations. Of course Aziraphale had inadvertently inspired so many young minds to keep trying just when they had been about to give up, on their dreams, on their audiences, on the world that they didn’t quite fit in.

There is a rather splendid collection of Jane Austen’s books by the desk that are somehow still apologising for 80 years of accidental abandonment – something about comfortable beds and sloth (and maybe a certain amount of sulking, but no one can force them to admit it.)

Tucked away in a corner is a ruffled, battered copy of Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ which tells a somewhat incoherent and frustrating story of being picked up without warning and violently thrown against the opposite wall back in an age of high hats and frock coats, splitting its spine and creasing its pages atrociously. The sword is aghast and confused; this is surely quite out of character for its book-loving angel. There was a row in a park, Milton explains, something about Holy Water and last resorts and the Serpent wanting to leave the angel to face trouble all alone if things went wrong. That does not sound much like the Serpent either, the sword thinks, but then Milton says something about fraternising and the Serpent having other options, and the sword smiles to itself at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. As if the Serpent could find anyone as perfectly suited to fraternising as the sword’s principality! Do books suffer from concussion?

There is a set of books of prophecy which tell the sword a totally unlikely story of a church and a bomb and a demon walking across consecrated ground to rescue an angel. Well… it would be totally unlikely if the flaming sword had not met both the angel and the demon in question before. With that kind of context, the sword can only smile with gentle pride; it _knew_ the Serpent could be trusted to look after the sword’s principality. It was good to be right.

*

**St James’s Park: Or the remarkable neutrality of ducks**

The flaming sword of Aziraphale takes one look at St James’s Park and sees it for what it is: Forcibly Neutral Ground. In every conflict, there needs to be a space for both sides to meet up and discuss matters without fear of repercussions, otherwise how would anything actually get done?

Except… well, then there are the ducks.

Ducks, the flaming sword of Aziraphale learns, are frankly amazing gossips. The sword makes a note to remember this fact, both for its own benefit and to prevent an enemy from learning of this fact too. _[3]_ Today it is a helpful fact, as it allows the flaming sword a completed story of the Holy Water Row, which sounds fascinating. The sword also hears another part of the really  _very_ confusing plot to avert Armageddon, which it still doesn't understand, not even having heard the parts known to the Bookshop and the Bentley as well.

There are less serious stories too, of course. One time Crowley had lost a hat he had been particularly fond of in the lake, and the angel had absentmindedly walked across the surface of the water to fetch it and caused mass hysteria to sweep the area for a week before the pair could bring matters back into order. Another time, the angel had said something especially sweet to the Serpent, and Crowley had introduced fifteen new species of flowering plant to England by forcing the flowerbeds to shoot into bloom in his confusion. It is all very sweet and very ridiculous.

_[3] It doesn’t matter which enemy, of course. There will always be one._

Ducks also turn out to be really quite _fantastically_ vicious, the flaming sword learns while watching a small mob attack a yuppie trying to impress his date by catching one.  The flaming sword approves of such responses heartily. Out of the corner of its (metaphorical) eye, it watches the Serpent all but crying with laughter as he watches, burying his face in the angel’s coat and shaking with the force of his mirth. Aziraphale is clucking away at him, pretending to disapprove of Crowley taking such pleasure in the misfortunes of another. But Crowley clearly knows that he doesn’t mean a word of it, not really, and unlike the flaming sword, Crowley can’t even see the smile tugging at the corners of Aziraphale’s lips.

Ducks, or at least the ones in St James’ Park, are very fond of Aziraphale indeed. He feeds them after all.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale learns this after they try to sink it in the lake to see if it will die that way. An entirely fruitless effort, but they make a few more very enthusiastic attempts at it before giving up and finally just asking what the sword is doing near Aziraphale.

 _HE IS MY ANGEL._ The flaming sword tells them, and they pause and consider it.

They tell the sword that it is not at all like the Bentley.

_NO, I AM NOT. I AM A FLAMING SWORD, NOT A CAR._

Ducks have no context for either of these words, but they understand bread and they understand the people who bring good bread. Aziraphale brings _very_ good bread, and although Crowley does not bring bread at all, Aziraphale’s bread never runs out before the Serpent has finished his conversation, and the ducks have noticed this.

When Crowley points the flaming sword’s presence out to Aziraphale, and the ducks watch with baited breath and beaks at the ready to see if they are cleared to attack the sword. The angel rolls his eyes and pats the sword with absent fondness.

The ducks subside and nod to the sword. The flaming sword may stay, they say. They don’t know what the sword is for, but if it comes with the angel, it can stay.

 _ONE DAY_ , the flaming sword of Aziraphale promises them, _ONE DAY I WILL BRING YOU ANGELS AND DEMONS THAT YOU CAN ATTACK._

The ducks are appeased by the promise of blood. The flaming sword is pleased to have acquired allies which neither Heaven nor Hell will likely be expecting.

Just in case, of course.

*

**The Bookshop: An Angel’s Bookshop is His Castle**

A few things about the bookshop as an entity _do_ strike the flaming sword as ... interesting.

Firstly, the bookshop is warded to the, well there really is no other word for it, to the _hilt_. The flaming sword of Aziraphale has been through wars and sieges and everything in between. It has seen defensive structures built to withstand armies, and assassins and ghosts and demons. And as the flaming sword looks around at the defensive wards in Enochian, and Babylonian, and Latin, and five different Celtic traditions, and Estonian, and… all of them interlocking and criss-crossing with no regard to the sheer oddity that this mass of defences presents … Well, even the flaming sword thinks that this all might be a bit much.

What does Aziraphale even expect to need to do with all this defensive power? Hold off a whole occult army? It stares at a particularly _nasty_ set of sigils to burn the wings off an angel if they approached with ill-intent, sitting somewhat incongruously next to a devil’s trap and (even _more_ bizarrely) a cheap charm for good fortune which was most definitely picked up from Glastonbury in 1963. _[4]_ What, _multiple_ armies even?

Oh.

Well then.

_[4] The flaming sword of Aziraphale is unlikely to discover this for some time, but the charm is one of Adam’s little additions, heavily influenced by Pepper’s Mum’s residual quirks form her hippie days, and Anathema’s more recent inspirations._

The flaming sword of Aziraphale takes another, even deeper, look at its angel’s fortress. Many of these wards hadn’t been raised, by the looks of things. _[5]_ They were just… waiting. Just in case. As a last resort, perhaps.

_[5] Until recently. But we shall come back to that. Hold that thought._

With this amount of power, locked up inside one site for over three centuries and containing the kind of knowledge that must have taken… Well, it must have taken about six millennia to accumulate and understand. Aziraphale could probably defend most of London with no one being any the wiser.

The Bentley had mentioned, carefully and with ill-hidden ire, the Serpent’s plea to Aziraphale the leave with him, to run away from the coming War and hide away somewhere they’d never be looked for. The flaming sword had been unsurprised to hear that the Serpent had been unsuccessful.

Aziraphale had never been a coward in the realest sense of the concept; had hated fighting, yes, but had been good enough at it to not have needed to do so very much of it. Had never learned how to back down really, only to frustrate his opponents and prevaricate until the need for conflict had passed. Had been more interested in keeping his soldiers alive and unharmed than in glory or the strange niceties of conflict which tended to only draw the fighting out longer than was necessary. Aziraphale was an _effective_ commander and soldier, not a pretty one, nor a showy one. And nor had he ever been stupid, no matter what his colleagues had apparently lulled themselves into believing.

Had the Apocalypse truly come down upon them, were Heaven and Hell to come a second time for the Principality, wards like these would buy him a significant amount of time. Would decimate an army if they rode against his stronghold, leaving broken forms and ravaged infernal or celestial graces littered at their fringes. It seems a little excessive at first glance?

The flaming sword thinks again of an angel and a demon forging a third side in a conflict they had tried to avert and it thinks about how, against all the odds, that third side had prevailed. It thinks about all the history it has lived through, all that it has learned of the way people who _want_ war, who think that it is inevitable and righteous and profitable, how they think, and what they do when they don’t end up getting what they want.

Aziraphale - as an angel and a messenger and a miracle-worker, an answerer of prayers – Aziraphale has also lived through so very many wars here on Earth, as well as in Heaven. He had made his plans accordingly, and he had learned more than perhaps even his Serpent had realised.

The flaming sword is glad to have been right about its angel too. Not that there was ever any doubt that it would be, of course.

*

**The Ritz:**

The Ritz does not really have a voice, which is disappointing. As the flaming sword of Aziraphale hides under the table, it contemplates the lost opportunity that this fact presents it with. After all, from all the very obvious billing and cooing going onto up there, _[6]_ there must be some truly excellent anecdotes to be shared. It is all very vexing.

_[6] Aziraphale would have called it ‘a rather charming conversation with an old friend, just catching up, you know?’ Aziraphale is, as previously noted, such a liar._

One bright spark, however, of the afternoon, is the moment when the Serpent drops his fork and reaches down to retrieve it. In doing so, he catches sight of the sword, leaning against the table leg and helpfully obscured from the view of all save those at floor level by the cloth.

The sword waits to see what the Serpent will do. It does not tense; it is a sword. But if it had breath, it might very well have held it.

The Serpent just smiles a little wickedly at it, and then he tips the sword a wink.

The sword suddenly feels very hot and very confused. No one has ever _winked_ at it before. It isn’t sure quite what it should do.

Then the angel asks the Serpent what he is doing down there, and the strange demon vanishes upwards again.

The flaming sword of Aziraphale totally loses track of the rest of the afternoon’s conversation, but it is brought sharply around to the present again as the two diners finally stand to leave.

“And angel?” The Serpent calls, teasing tones warming his voice. “Do take your sword with you, won’t you? Can’t have it getting left in the lost property like that dreadful trilby, can we?”

“That trilby was very fetching on me, I’ll have you know, you old serpent.” Aziraphale tosses back, reaching under the table for the sword without thinking.

They are half-way to the door before what Aziraphale has done catches up to him. He stops and stands there in the middle of the lobby, staring at the weapon in his hand.

“Oh my,” he says, then he looks up at Crowley’s badly-hidden smirk. “Did you know it was there this whole time?”

“Only stopped it after I dropped the fork. Poor thing must be lonely, if it’s following you the Ritz like this. You ought to take it out more, I don’t neglect the Bentley like this. It’s cruel.”

“The Ritz is _not_ the sort of place for flaming swords, my dear!” The angel sounds aghast, but he is also clutching the sword protectively to his chest while he says it. The flaming sword glows a little at this unthinking care and attention.

“Oh I don’t know,” the Serpent says airily while turning and heading back towards the door. “I think it lends a real … _flair_ to your whole ensemble, that sword does. You ought to make a Thing of it somehow.”

They climb into the Bentley, and Aziraphale lays the sword across his lap while he reaches for his seatbelt, and then quite forgets to move it away from himself again.

“Do you think so? I shouldn’t think that I’ve ever been much of a flaming sword-having angel, really. Not even at the Beginning.”

Crowley rolls his eyes behind those dark glasses he wears. The flaming sword makes a note of its angel’s doubts, yes, but it also makes a note of the Serpent’s defence of it. It will repay this kindness somehow, it promises itself.

“Well, I think you suit it, and it seems to like you, so I don’t know who else you think matters enough to have a say.”

Aziraphale thinks about this for a long moment.

“Well, I … I suppose I shall have to think about it, won’t I?”

“You do that.” Crowley fiddles with the Bentley’s radio until Queen comes crooning out of it.

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, but it is comfortable, and the sword and the Bentley exchange fond affection all the way home.

*

**The Bookshop: Seizing the Moment, and Life After Death**

The other thing that immediately strikes the flaming sword of Aziraphale about the Bookshop is that the latter is very … confused.

It takes the sword a long time to try and work it all out, but what the sword manages to understand is that there was a fire, which destroyed the Bookshop, but then there wasn’t a fire, and the Bookshop is fine, except that it is … different somehow. And even more importantly; the Bookshop knows this.

That must be very disconcerting, the flaming sword suspects.

All in all, it is probably a good thing for everyone concerned that Aziraphale has never had very much interest in the types of philosophy and biology dedicated to determining one’s self and one’s relationship to reality and the world around one. This could all get very messy as it is, and if one of the sections had taken it upon itself to start doubting the whole of the bookshop’s existence, dreadful things would likely have happened.

The Bookshop, between being the personal fortress of a principality who didn’t particularly want to use it as such but couldn’t seem to resist the need to set it up for such an eventuality regardless, being the keystone for a much larger set of defences which the angel wanted to use even less, and also all the L-Space that came courtesy of just _being a bookshop_ didn’t have the best relationship to reality in the first place. Being incinerated-except-not-being-incinerated-but-remembering-that-one-really-ought-to- _still_ -be-incinerated was not unlike rocking a very unstable boat.

The whole thing is something of a conundrum for the sword.

On the one blade, the flaming sword, as a creation of Heaven is filled with enough love to feel very bad indeed in the face of another being’s suffering. All this wondering whether you really should be here or not is clearly very wearing for the Bookshop and the sword wishes very much that it could help somehow.

On the _other_ blade, well, the flaming sword is largely unsympathetic to things being set on fire. There, it said it.

Not to mention, from a strategic perspective, this whole burning down business might actually be the best thing to ever happen to the Bookshop.

The thing is, when the Bookshop of A.Z. Fell & Co. burned down, it did so entirely by accident. It is easy to forget this fact what with all the excitement that was going on at the time, but it is important to bear in mind all the same. The Bookshop was not vandalised. It was not attacked, no matter what a certain distraught demon may have believed. It was burned by accident and it couldn’t have burned any other way.

But the flame which was brought into the shop and set fire to it was brought only with the intent to do Good, to help people. _[7]_ And when the principality Aziraphale was discorporated, as tends to happen in such situations, he released a _huge_ amount of grace, or celestial energy, into his immediate surroundings, which all those dormant wards had soaked up like a particularly voracious sponge. And then there had come the demon…

 _[7] Whatever else might be said of Sargent Shadwell, he_ meant well.

Crowley likely hadn’t even been aware that the broken glass in the shop had cut him. He certainly hadn’t been in any fit state to notice the pain, or the way he’d recklessly dripped demonic blood around the place while he searched the inferno for his best friend.

Crowley liked to say that he wasn’t much of a reader of books. Crowley, being a demon, is a liar. _[8]_ But he certainly had not read so widely into occult arts as Aziraphale had done over the centuries. As such, he was entirely unaware of the implications of a demon bleeding over a wide variety of runes, sigils and wards, splashing tears of loss and heart-break around while he was at it and proclaiming anger and vengeance at those who had hurt his loved one. The wards, however, had known _exactly_ what to do with all that occult energy and those … contributions to the wards were gratefully accepted too.

_[8] Remind you of anybody?_

The Bookshop certainly had not _asked_ to be burned down, but it had done whatever it could do over the centuries to keep Aziraphale safe and sound.

It had refused to allow itself to be bombed or burned while London was under attack from all manner of foes, both from without across the Channel, and within. It had helpful rerouted and generally confused countless of the more junior angels sent to bother the principality with trivial concerns about paperwork even _they_ didn’t care about, until any issues were simply dropped on an archangel’s desk to be dealt with. An archangel, in the Bookshop’s opinion, was the very _least_ of the ranks of angelic pests by which Aziraphale deserved to be interrupted _[9]_ , although preferably the Bookshop would like its angel to be left the Something alone.

 _[9] The Bookshop had neither forgotten, nor forgiven, the archangels for trying to take Aziraphale away from it as soon as they had found each other. Sandalphon thought that the Bookshop smelled ‘evil’, and he was wrong. It smelled_ angry _._

And then it had _died_ in the Apocalypse, trying to defend its angel. And the wards were finally completed, not by the hands of an angel, or a demon, or even an occult-ish human. But by the will of the Bookshop itself, determined that nothing like this could ever be allowed to happen ever again. Never would it be forced to fail its angel like that within its own walls.  

The flaming sword had to respect that in a fellow being of sentient determination.

It wasn’t the Armoury of Heaven, the flaming sword thought, but it was far better than that. It was Important.

*

**The Bentley - The Allies**

The Bentley comes to visit, and it helpfully decided to bring Crowley along too, thus providing a distraction for the flaming sword’s angel. The flaming sword of Aziraphale hops into the backseat and they idle in front of the ‘No Parking’ sign to catch up, leaving the angel and the demon to drink and talk in Aziraphale’s back room.

 _I AM HAPPY TO REPORT THAT THE ANGEL IS WEAKENING AND I THINK WE MIGHT BE GROWING COMFORTABLE IN EACH OTHER’S PRESENCE AGAIN._ _I DO NOT THINK I’LL BE SENT AWAY AGAIN._

The flaming sword cannot slump down in the back seat from relief, because it is a sword and swords cannot _slump_. Still, the sword’s tone very much suggests that if it had the option of slumping, it would absolutely be doing so right now. The past few weeks have been a trial. Angels are such stubborn creatures.

 _GOOD,_ the Bentley responds anxiously, _BECAUSE CROWLEY’S BECOME A LOT MORE POWERFUL THAN HE USED TO BE AND I EXPECT THAT YOUR ANGEL IS HAVING THE SAME … EXPERIENCE._

_AH._

_QUITE._

_IT IS TO BE EXPECTED, I SUPPOSE. YOU CAN’T START YOUR OWN SIDE WITHOUT REPERCUSSIONS, AFTER ALL._

The Bentley is nervous, and the flaming sword does its best to project as much calm and confidence as it possibly can.

_ARE WE READY FOR WHAT COMES NEXT THOUGH?_

_WE ARE AS READY AS WE POSSIBLY CAN BE. THE PAIR OF THEM HAVE MANAGED TO DEVELOP A LOT OF UNCONVENTIONAL DEFENCES. AND THEY ARE BOTH OF THEM RATHER CLEVER. WE WILL WAIT TO SEE WHAT COMES NEXT._

The Bentley sighed, it was not built for waiting and it didn’t like it. The flaming sword of Aziraphale is made of sterner stuff. Fortunate indeed that they have found each other, it supposes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, check out my blog for random thoughts on writing, fantasy, dragons and folklore. Also there's a tiny dragon as a guest-star, so that can't be bad!  
> I can be found at: <https://herebeblog.wordpress.com/>


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